This sudden finch who shares
His morning feast with me
Of dandelion seeds for the picking
His red hopping around among the
Yellow heads and gray hardly a week
Between coming and going
As if their only purpose was
To feed the restless finch
And do me the honor
Of being his silent guest
Even if around us stand
So many gibbets with their bodies gone
And the finch what's left
Of the blood that's fallen
To feed the hungry ground
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